The Twin Brother I Never Had
by The Lonely Padawan
Summary: On a perfectly normal day, Gerard Butler is met by a Phantom from his past . . . I know, my summaries usually fail. XP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I got an idea for a story after watching **_**The Phantom of the Opera,**_** and, seeing how I was previously in love with Gerard Butler, this is the lovechild of my brain and my favorite musical. Hopefully, it's not too terrible.**

Chapter 1: The Beginning

It began as just a normal day, with normal sunshine and normal oxygen.

As usual, I couldn't go out in public without signing a dozen autographs for star-struck teenage girls (and some boys, which kind of freaked me out), so I made absolutely sure to bring my Sharpie. Being a major Hollywood movie star-as I'd once quoted to my mum-is tough work.

I think all the un-normal stuff (is that even a word?) happened about the time I saw what I _thought_ was a _Phantom of the Opera _freak lounging in the food court of the mall. I, of course, was too busy to notice him, signing a photo for a twelve-year-old _P.S.: I Love You _fan, who squealed uncontrollably when I hugged her, being the good sport I am. I remember being normal once, and I also remember wishing I could have hugged my favorite actress "way back when."

When he approached me _later_ was when I got more than a bit creeped out.

The guy must have had money, because he had the entire costume, exactly-_exactly!-_the way I had worn it in _Phantom._ Everything about him seemed familiar from my days filming that movie. Even the mask was exactly like the one in the movie. He looked just like the Phantom of the Opera-like _me,_ really.

"Gerard Butler?" he finally said, his voice foreign yet familiar at the same time. It sent chills up and down my spine to hear a voice that sounded so haunting and beautiful. He must've been a great singer. Little did I know . . .

I smiled and nodded. "The one and only," I said, taking out my Sharpie pen. "What do you want me to sign?"

He shook his head, glaring at me. I _knew_ that glare-though at the time, I didn't know how well. "Is there somewhere we could talk-privately?" he asked, looking around. He wasn't familiar with this mall, apparently. I _really_ had no idea.

I shrugged. "The men's room, I suppose," I said.

What the hell was I thinking? This guy was about my height and weight, and though he wore the same damn coat from the "Music of the Night" scene, you could tell he was muscular.

I might have been able to take him-if I had the Viking hat from that barfight that seemed so long ago.

We walked into the men's room, and I prepared myself for a gay love confession-or maybe a confession of stalking. I wouldn't have been surprised, but I was-because what he said was far from it.

"Do you know who I am, Mr. Butler?" His English accent masked something else-thicker and rougher. Scottish, maybe?

I shook my head, shrugging. "Er, no, not really," I said, getting creeped out.

He glared at me from behind that half mask-exactly like the one I had worn in the filming of that movie. "I am Erik, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom of the Opera."

_No,_ I thought, _you're a psychopath._ I didn't voice my opinion of course, instead chuckling and shaking my head, and stopped in my tracks.

Because, at that moment, he had chosen to reach a gloved hand toward his face-lifting the mask away from it, revealing the horrifying truth.

The _same damn deformity _that had been faked onto my own face with rubber and prosthetics and special glue was glaring at me now, those gray green eyes that mirrored my own meeting my own, in height _exactly like mine._ because, as unbelievable as it sounds . . . _he _was _me._

He was the Phantom of the Opera.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter two is up! In this one, Gerry does a bit more than freak out.**

Chapter 2: I'm Not Hallucinating

My reaction after my initial jaw-drop was pretty much expected. I screamed.

"AAHH!" I shouted, falling flat on my ass. I scooted away from him, toward the bathroom door, hoping no one else was in here to witness my embarrassing moment. "What—what—"

He raised his full eyebrow—on the good side of his face—staring at me, amused.

"You—you're not real!" I shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him, my eyes bugging out of my head. "You don't belong here!"

He walked over to me, poking my arm. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes," I said, wondering how this was supposed to mean he was real and I wasn't hallucinating.

"Then I'm real." He smirked, standing up and looking down at me, walking around the bathroom. "My hypothesis is that, if I wasn't real, then my hand would go straight through your arm, proving myself to be immaterial."

God, he was exactly like the movie had made him out to be—a genius, but not just in music.

I shook my head vigorously, closing my eyes. "I'm dreaming," I sputtered. "In a minute, I'm going to wake up, and this was just a bad dream."

He rolled his eyes, replacing his mask. "Pinch yourself. See if it helps." I, of course, didn't notice the sarcasm in his suggestion until later, when I replayed it in my head-I was too busy trying to pinch myself desperately, closing my eyes.

When I opened them, he was in my face again, his head tilted curiously to the side. "Did it work?" he asked, a smirk playing on his—_my—_lips.

I closed my eyes again, pinching myself in a final move of desperation. "Wake up," I urged. "Wake up! wake up, wake up, wakethehellup!"

I opened them again, and he was pacing around the bathroom again. I heard his boots tapping against the linoleum, almost sounding like the ticking if a grandfather click with his walking pattern. "Face it, Mr. Butler, you're as awake as you could possibly be. For now, you will just have to deal with that fact." He turned to me, smirking. "Which means I'm real." His maniacal laughter was almost drowned out my my shouting. Almost.

"Listen here!" I yelled, trying to stand—and failing. "This is my world, and you don't belong here! You _can't_ belong here! You're a _fictional_ character I played in a movie! A _fictional _character from a book that was published in the early twentieth century! There's no way in hell you're real."

He sighed. "I am very real. And finding Christine will prove it."

"Wait, what?" I asked.

He turned to me. "Christine disappeared from the world of _the Phantom of the Opera_ almost a month ago," he explained. "It had been right after Raoul proposed to her on the rooftop." He paused momentarily, his eyes burning with hatred. I knew that look-I had given it many times to the poor guy that played Raoul in the filming of the movie. "I came here to find her."

"Wait. How did she 'disappear'?" I asked, still confused.

He began pacing again. "A hole in the fabric that separates our worlds," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "She fell through and landed here. Just like I did."

I shook my head. This guy was giving me a bloody headache. "What does this have to do with me?" I asked, looking up at him.

He smirked. "I had hoped you would ask that," he said, stopping and turning to face me. "You are the only one who can tell the _real _Christine from the other."

I pursed my lips, pondering his words. "So, you mean to tell me that, after I haven't seen or spoken to Emmy Rossum since 2004, I am supposed to tell you which one is Christine Daae?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't think of that."

I scoffed. "Of course you didn't think of it!" I stood and started to bang my head against the wall. "AAARGH!"

"Can you shut it, please?" he hissed. "People are going to wonder what's going on!"

I bit my lower lip until I tasted blood. "I think there actually is a way to tell Emmy from Christine," I said, turning back to face him. "What was Christine wearing when she went poof?"

Erik tilted his head as he thought back to that day. "I suppose you remember what she was wearing when she took Raoul to the rooftop?"

There was that look again. His eyes could have burned a hole in the wall.

"Yeah, I remember," I said, pausing a moment to think. "Red cape, white dress with lace trim around the neckline."

He nodded, then stepped over to me, clearing the room in a few long strides. "You can help me find her!" he hissed, shaking me by the shoulders. I literally heard my brain rattle in my skull. Don't ask me how.

"Erm, please let me go," I whispered, feeling very uncomfortable with his proximity.

He released the deathgrip he had on my shoulders and started pacing again. "Will you do it?" he finally asked.

I shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"

He paused momentarily, tilting his head, then shrugged. "Not really."

I smirked. "Well, whatever the hell will get you out of my world," I said. Really, I was more afraid of the lasso than I wanted him out.

He extended his hand. "Deal?"

I smirked. "Deal," I said, shaking his hand.

**A/N: Looks like he doesn't have a choice... What chaos will ensue now that the Phantom has come to our world?**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Seeing as our friend Phantom was, in a nutshell, homeless, guess who he had to stay with?

I grumbled under my breath, glancing toward him every five minutes. He kept rolling the window up and down, like a curious child.

It was pissing me off—big time.

I grit my teeth as he flipped the radio stations, then almost ran a red light when he accidentally turned the windshield wipers on.

I growled loudly, turning off the radio and locking the windows, preventing his childlike curiosity from taking its toll on my patience.

He pursed his lips, then sighed. "How are we going to find Christine?" he asked, frowning.

"We start looking tomorrow," I said, glancing at the digital clock beside the stereo. Almost midnight. "We'll begin searching at the mall, then we'll take our search to other places. If she ran into Emmy, we might have to go to wherever she is." I frowned. "I hope she _did _run into Emmy, actually, because not only does it narrow our search, but it means she isn't out here, sleeping in a cardboard box."

The Phantom paled, his lips pressing into a thin, straight line.

I sighed. "Look, if you found me, she probably landed somewhere near Emmy, okay?" I said, trying to calm him.

He chewed on his bottom lip, my explanation clearly not satisfying him, but he stayed silent.

I only hoped I was right.

When we finally reached my place, it took ten minutes to get the Phantom to hold still and stop touching everything. He kept flicking the lights on and off.

I sighed and directed him to the couch. "Sit," I ordered, pointing. "Now."

He sat obediently, his eyes darting around, inspecting everything in the room.

I raised my eyebrows warningly, and he proceeded to get more comfortable.

"Good boy," I said, patting him on the wig-covered head. "Now stay put while I go make some phone calls."

He looked confused, but stayed on the couch obediently.

I grabbed my cell phone, searching through the contacts in my address list before I finally found one I hadn't made a call to since 2004. For some reason, I kept the number. I prayed he hadn't changed it.

It rang at least five times before Andrew picked up.

"Hello?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Mr. Webber," I said, hoping to God he could help me. "Do you still have Emmy Rossum's number?"

He sighed. "Gerry, do you realize what time it is?"

"Yes, and I'm terribly sorry about waking you up, it's just that I really need to know how I can reach her."

"I'm sorry, Gerry, I really can't help you." The great composer yawned sleepily.

I frowned, chewing my lower lip. "Thanks anyway. Sorry for waking you up, Andrew."

He said goodbye and I heard the _click_ before I could get the words out of my own mouth.

Great. So Andrew Lloyd Webber couldn't help me.

Looks like I was going to have to go to pretty drastic measures . . .

. . . the drastic measures of an accursed "fanboy."

I shuddered at the thought, then gagged.

_Never,_ I thought miserably, but then I realized it would be the only way to get in touch with Emmy.

I grabbed my laptop, checking every search engine I could think of for any way to contact her.

At around two in the morning, it took every bit of reserve I had to keep from jumping up and down, shouting to the heavens in joy.

A contact address. Thank God.

I was about to go to the living room to deliver the news, but Erik was out cold.

I sighed, grabbing a blanket out of my room and laying it over Sleeping Beauty. In the morning, I would write a letter to Emmy. It was old-fashioned and not exactly the quickest way to reach her, but it was the best we had. In the meantime, I went back to my room, stripped of everything other than my underwear, and crawled under the blankets. It had been a helluva day, and I was asleep the instant I closed my eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

_BEEEP! BEEEP! BEEEP!_

I slapped my alarm clock and held the pillow in an even tighter headlock, growling deep in my throat. "Five more minutes," I grumbled.

I opened my eyes suddenly, then jumped out of bed, dashing into the living room to check on my uninvited guest.

The Phantom had placed his mask and wig neatly on the coffee table and was curled in a fetal position, the blanket a coccoon around him. The sight made my heart wrench. He looked almost . . . adorable.

I shook my head, then walked back to my room. Five minutes wouldn't hurt . . .

I heard the Phantom stirring from the couch, then grit my teeth, grabbing my jeans and walking back to the living room.

He sat up with a yawn and stretched his arms. There was no way in hell this guy was me. If I had just woken up on a couch, I'd be swearing and grumbling about my back.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," I said, pulling on my jeans. "Dream about Christine?"

He tilted his head to the side, and I realized that he probably had.

And I'd just called him a "beauty." Poor guy.

"How do you feel about cold cereal for breakfast?" I asked grabbing a box of AppleJacks.

"What the hell is cold cereal?" he asked. Okay, maybe he _was_ a bit like me.

"Here," I said, pouring milk in his bowl. "Try this."

I gave him a spoon, and he took a tentative bite. The crunching noise seemed to startle him, and I laughed when he jumped, damn near spilling the entire bowl on himself.

"Look, it's fine, just eat it," I said. "Your teeth won't break." I poured myself a bowl and flipped the TV on with the remote.

His eyebrows raised when I turned it to the news. "Look, Gerard!" he said, pointing. "There's a man stuck in that box!"

I blinked, trying not to laugh. "Erik, dear, that's called a TV. He's not really in it. It's an image that is projected into the box."

His eyebrows furrowed, then he shook his head. "I can't _wait_ to get back to the Opera Populaire."

I chuckled. "What, you don't want to live with me?" I asked. "I could show you how to use all this stuff. It's be fun."

He looked at me, and I realized what I'd just done. I was being kind to him. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and he looked away.

I sighed, walking over to the couch and sat next to him. "Look, you're not actually that ugly, okay?" I said, putting an arm around his shoulders and gently rubbing between them. "In America, we've got people with all kinds of deformities and they're accepted. People like you are accepted here."

The Phantom looked up at me, then shook his head. "This isn't my world," he said. "I don't belong here. Besides, there's already one of you. I would just confuse things."

I frowned, patting his back. "We'll find Christine, then," I said, clenching my jaw. "And I'll be damned if we don't."

He gave me a sort of half-smile, then resumed eating his AppleJacks.

I went back to my bowl, then turned the TV to an OnDemand movie.

Erik's eyebrows raised in surprise as he turned his attention to the TV.

He watched as the masked figure stepped up out of the boat and onto the rocks, flinging his cape off.

_"I have brought you_

_To the seat of sweet music's throne_

_To a kingdom where all must pay homage to music . . ._

_Music . . ."_

"That's . . . that's . . ." He pointed a shaky figure to the image of himself. "That's _me!"_

I laughed. "Yeah, that's _Phantom of the Opera."_

Erik put his bowl on the coffee table as the camera switched to Christine/Emmy, and he traced her image with his fingers. "I will find you, Christine," he said softly, a promise he meant to keep. "I will find you."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Alrighty, folks! I think this will be the last chapter . . . unless they make a surprise visit back to reality. ;)**

Chapter Five:

Christine tried desperately to watch Emmy's demonstration of the way she talked. Modern. It was giving her a headache.

"Wait!" she finally said, holding a hand to her head. "I can't do this."

Emmy rolled her eyes. "Come on!" she hissed. "If you don't do _exactly_ like I do, people are gonna think you're not me!"

"But I'm _not_ you!" Christine whined. "Technically."

"Are we looking at the technicalities here?" Emmy asked, raising her eyebrows. "You're me, and I'm you. Come on, we have to do this."

"You are going to help me get back, though, right?" Christine asked.

Emmy nodded enthusiastically. "Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I?"

A knock at the door startled them both, and Christine hid in her usual spot, beneath the table.

Emmy ran over and opened the door.

"Miss Rossum?" her agent said. "A letter. From Gerry Butler."

She raised an eyebrow. "What could Gerry have to say to me?" she wondered to herself, turning the envelope over in her hands. His name and address were printed neatly in the corner.

She opened it hurriedly, closing the door, and Christine looked over her shoulder.

"Who is it from?" she asked.

"It's from Gerry, the guy that played Erik," Emmy explained.

_Dear Emmy,_

_ Okay, this is going to sound crazy and I totally understand if you don't, but please, please, PLEASE meet me at Time Square tomorrow at noon. It's important. And bring your "friend"._

Emmy looked up. "Do you think he knows about you?" she asked.

Christine's eyes brightened. "What if the Phantom came to rescue me?" she asked dreamily. "What if he's with Gerry and that's what he needs to meet you about?"

Emmy pursed her lips, thinking. "We need to get moving. This was written yesterday." She grabbed a jacket and her purse, hastily placing a baseball cap on Christine's curls. "Come on."

. . .

I sighed. "Come on, Emmy, I know you got the damn letter!" I hissed.

Erik paced like a mad genius on his way to uncovering some new truth. "What if she doesn't have Christine?" he asked. I had given him a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he wore a hat to cover his . . . abnormality. I had forced him to leave the mask at my place.

I saw two very alike-looking girls heading our way, one wearing a baseball hat over long, messy curls. Erik and I ran over to meet Emmy and the other Emmy.

"Jesus!" I hissed, trying to decide which was which. I finally decided it was the one with the shorter hair. "Emmy, you're late." I tapped my watch. "It's almost one."

She sighed. "What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked. It was then her eyes widened as she realized I was standing next to a deformed copy of myself. "Oh, my God," she whispered, grabbing Christine's shoulder. "It's him!" She laughed suddenly, hugging Christine. "I'm not crazy!" She hugged me, and I couldn't help but laugh and hug her back.

"That means _I'm_ not crazy!" I shouted. I pulled away, looking into her face. "I'm not crazy, am I?"

She laughed, and I whooped loudly. "Oh, God, Erik, this means you and Christine can go home now!"

"Not so fast," a new voice said. We all turned, and Erik growled ferally. I rolled my eyes with a scoff.

"Seriously?" I shouted, gesturing to the "twins" standing before us. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

Patrick Wilson (which musch shorter hair, thank God) stood next to his copy, Raoul. Patrick smirked. "No, we're not kidding. He told me Erik kidnapped Christine and brought her into our world and he was going to save her."

Erik looked baffled. "Wha—no!" he shouted, turning to look at Christine, whose eyes widened, filling with tears.

_Oh, Christ,_ I thought miserably, _she's gonna cry._

"You bastard!" Raoul hissed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said, stepping between them as Erik raised a fist. "Now, I'm all for cursing and violence, but this is a public place. I don't know how you French—well, technically Erik, you're a Scottish guy with an English accent, and you, Raoul, are just some hopeless fop with undeniably great hair that I'd just love to shear off your head, make into a wig, and give to some poor old cancer patient—handle this kind of situation, but this is America, people. No fighting in public, and please, Raoul, don't pull out a sword in the middle of Time Square." His hand lingered near his sword, and I raised my eyebrows warningly. When he took his hand away, I turned to Erik. "Now, Erik, did you kidnap Christine?" I asked.

He sputtered for a moment, and I raised my eyebrows in a similar fashion as I had done to Raoul. He finally sighed and bowed his head. "I didn't 'kidnap' her," he said, glaring daggers at Raoul. "I was protecting her from _you."_

"What?" Raoul and Patrick said in unison.

Emmy stood next to me, facing Raoul. "Listen here!" she said forcibly. "Hear him out, will you? Maybe he's right."

You have to love a girl who takes the Phantom's side in a Phantom/Raoul argument.

Erik cleared his throat and turned to face Christine. "I was protecting you, like an angel should," he said. "I'm sorry I deceived you and made you think I was an actual angel, and I thought this would make up for it."

"What, Erik, would make up for deceiving me?" she asked, her eyes filled with a mixture of hate, betrayal, and love.

He sighed. "To put it simply, Raoul is a man-whore!"

I pretended to cough to stifle a laugh. I was suddenly really glad I'd taught him that one. It suited Raoul perfectly.

Raoul growled, and it took me, Patrick, _and _Emmy to hold him back.

Christine's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

Erik took a deep breath. "Just look at him!" He gestured toward the man we held back from attacking him. "He doesn't give a flying fuck about you, the only reason he wants to marry you is because you have—" He stopped in mid-sentence, and it took every ounce of reserve I had to keep from falling over laughing. I knew what he meant.

"Because I have _what, _exactly, Erik?" Christine glared at him, demanding an answer.

He clearly didn't know what to say to redeem himself, so I stepped in for him.

"You're incredibly attractive, Christine," I said, struggling to keep Raoul in check. "And it's not your face men—specifically Raoul here—are staring at." To make a point, I glanced toward her sizable chest.

Her mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, and Raoul blushed deeply.

Emmy tried not to laugh, and Patrick had already succumbed to the urge and had fallen over, rolling on the ground.

Christine walked over to Raoul, slapped him hard, and back over to Erik. She kissed him passionately on the lips, and Emmy and I both rolled our eyes.

"Erm, we also don't publicize our affections in America," I said. I still held onto a startled Raoul, who had stopped struggling long ago and given the hell up.

Erik and Christine pulled apart, and she offered him a flawless smile. Raoul shook me off, still holding onto the reddening side of his face, and they all walked away.

"Hey, wait!" I called, jogging after Erik. "Where are you going?"

He looked up, a bit startled that I had asked. "Home," he said, smiling. "Changing the end of _the Phantom of the Opera._"

"But . . ." I furrowed my eyebrows. "You won't stay? Just for a little while?"

His smiled turned to a more sad one, and he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe we'll meet again someday, Gerry," he said.

I smiled, pulling him into a hug. "I'll never forget this," I said, pulling back to look at my twin. "No, really, it's going to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life."

He and I both laughed, and he and Christine walked away again.

I waved as they disappeared in a brilliant flash of light, Raoul staggering behind them.

There goes the twin brother I never had.

I walked calmly back over to Emmy and Patrick, and he mumbled something about a hair appointment.

Not like he needed it.

After he had left, it was just me and Emmy.

"So," I said, rubbing my hands together. "It's chilly. Want to go get some coffee?"

She smiled. "Sure."

I grinned back. "I know this great place downtown . . ."

We walked away toward the rest of the city.

We would never forget that day.

_Epilogue . . ._

It's been almost a year since then. Emmy and I hang out a lot, and sometimes Patrick joins us. We never talk about it, but occasionally, we look up into one another's eyes and think at the same time, _Remember what happened that day . . ._

None of us say it. But we can each tell the others are thinking it.

I watch _Phantom of the Opera _every weekend. The ending hasn't changed in our world. But maybe, somewhere, in that other world, Erik and Christine are laughing, happily married, able to live their own lives instead of following the rules of the film.

It was a dark and stormy night when I got a letter. Addressed to "a Mr. Gerard Butler." No return address.

I ripped it open, and found an old photograph. Erik and Christine, holding two beautiful children. A note fluttered out of the tattered envelope, and I picked it up, reading in loose script:

_These are our children, Emmy and Gerard. Thought you'd like it._

_Erik._

I smiled, placing the photograph in my wallet, wondering how he'd managed to get it here.

I decided not to question.

This, I realized, was proof that somewhere, somehow, I had a twin brother of sorts, a best friend that was somewhat a mirror images of myself.

The twin brother I never had.

**A/N: You know, I love E/C pairings almost more than E/OC. They're kind of meant to be together, you know? But Christine is obviously in love with that fop Raoul, so stories like this never come true...-sighs and mentally strangles the pansy- But nobody cares, because this ending is much more happier :3. And yes, I do know that's grammatically incorrect. It's s'posed to be funny.**


End file.
